Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (good books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

was wrong; hoped he was too quick to assume the worst. But the silence continued. “Shit.”

Nitro leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Gally’s voice came over the coms once more. She sighed before she spoke. “Captain, we’re in position. Do we have confirmation that the tower is down?” He wiped his eyes. “Captain, come in?”

After some time, he responded with a voice that almost cracked. “No visual.” His next words were about to be a declaration of faith in his team: that if Boomer died, he died completing his mission. But he knew that wouldn’t be enough for the stubborn girl and her green pilot. “But we can get that on the way out.” He blinked, realizing what he said probably sounded worse. He hoped they didn’t have a response.

“Acknowledged,” Gally responded, sounding more vulnerable than she would have liked. “How’s Doctor Collier?”

Nitro kicked some nearby debris into one of the empty cells. He collected more laser rifles and moved to the door. “Tell you when I see him. Don’t wait for us. I’ll have him before you get that thing in the air.” The captain heard Gally respond, but didn’t pay it any mind. He opened the next door and charged through it.

Sabile:Base of Operations of the Eighth: Central Factory

On his long walk with Rook, Martin paraded himself as a parody of his former egotist self. He was overly cooperative, overly friendly. “Never could get the thing working, but good luck explaining that to the higher-ups,” he rambled as they walked.

“I see.” Rook looked to the doctor, lacking empathy and patience. It refused to partake in Martin’s sudden good mood.

“Anyway,” the doctor continued. “We settled on just throwing the whole proximity station at the planet, and you know those government types.”

“I do not,” Rook stated plainly.

“Well, they wanted to make it look real.” Truthfully, Martin was recalling a terrible fact, a horrible memory that had been chewing at his soul since its inception, but he was talking about it as if it were some work-related anecdote. His smiles—rare and temporary—never reached his eyes. “Of course, they didn’t tell me this at the time, but they didn’t even evacuate the damn thing.” He threw his hand in the air, as if tossing something. “Twenty five hundred innocent souls.” Martin’s jovial tone dissipated for a moment, his eyes revealing a deep regret. “And they weren’t even part of the war.”

Martin’s sudden dark tone fell on the indifferent general. A small explosion rocked the complex. Martin looked toward the sound. He’d anticipated some explosions, but tried to look at least a little surprised. Rook appeared annoyed and calculating, as it had already known about the problem and was dealing with it.

Martin recovered from staring at the Eighth and finished his thought. “But it taught me a lot.” He shrugged, glancing at the large automaton. “Like the price of doing what’s right.”

As casually as he could, he dipped his one hand in a nearby vat, scooping up some of the clear, thick liquid it was producing. He noticed his hand was freezing, but it wasn’t cold. He just lost feeling in it and was unable to move it. With a weary smile, he looked to Rook. “Fascinating substance, by the way.” A second, larger explosion rocked the base from the opposite end. Again, Rook seemed to notice, but not be surprised. “Always enjoyed chemistry.” Martin grew nervous.

Rook’s eye twitched as it closely monitored and commanded its troops remotely as they defended the base. “Doctor, I’ve moved your equipment, like you asked. Can we now discuss your mutator?”

“Oh!” Martin nodded, putting his frozen hand into the pocket of his environmental suit. “Yes; let me just get to my tablet, and we can discuss it.” He gave Rook a smile, which was returned with forced patience. For a synthesized being, the automaton’s face ran the gamut of emotions. It was very convincing, albeit disturbing.

They’d arrived at a large, exposed walkway, with adjacent chrome rooms that were somehow even less fit for living creatures than their assigned guest rooms. Within the room was a small, green trunk. It was in perfect condition, and the doctor was nearly grateful for that.

His left hand appeared from out of his suit, and he wiped it on the front, gaining more and more feeling and movement in it as he wiped the substance off. He opened his case with his teeth and unmoving hand. Humming as his stiff hand grazed over the many tiny bottles, he managed to pluck a specific one from his case. Holding the bottle in his mouth, he slowly turned his head and dripped the green liquid onto his hand. The clear liquid that held his hand in place immediately dissolved and regained feeling. A very satisfied, victorious smile appeared on the doctor’s face. “That’s what I thought, fucker.”

After putting the container with the green liquid into his pocket, he closed the trunk, finding it much easier to do with one hand than none, stood up, and exited the room to see Rook looking out over the factory. The sound of laser fire ripped through the factory. When Martin approached, Rook stretched out a hand toward the doctor. “Stay there,” it said.

It was watching Nitro. The captain was in full sprint, screaming at the top of his lungs, firing randomly behind him. Martin watched the pursuing Eighth—too many to count—suddenly become very careful with their shots upon entering the room. Martin immediately realized why. Their target was running serpentine, which would have been easy for a computer to lead a target, but the patterns of the captain’s jukes and jives were untraceable. A blast from a laser rifle, Martin concluded, could easily pierce either the equipment or the transport ships. A single missed shot could mean releasing the Carrion.

A smile appeared on Martin’s face as he dropped his case. He stepped back quite a bit, and made a running leap, forcing his shoulder into Rook’s back. The Eighth general barely had